


Fall to Pieces

by aliasmajik



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-01
Updated: 2013-08-01
Packaged: 2017-12-22 02:40:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/907921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aliasmajik/pseuds/aliasmajik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur was aware of the irony of the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fall to Pieces

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [trope-bingo](http://trope-bingo.dreamwidth.org/), prompt "coming out of the closet".

Arthur had his knees drawn up near his chest, his chin tucked at an odd angle, and he was fairly sure that his ass was so numb that it would never recover. The darkened closet that he was crammed into was occupied by only one other, and of all the gin joints in the world, why did Eames have to pick his closet to hide in? It was dark enough that Arthur couldn't really make out Eames' face, which was probably for the best, because they were a tangle of limbs and there were many laws of personal space that had been ignored in favor of relative safety.

A botched job had landed them in trouble. The mark had security that Arthur should have known about, if he'd known that it was possible to militarize a mind like that, but this was new to him. They'd escaped the dream fine (if one could count being shot in the head as a 'fine' escape, a pursuit that Arthur tried to avoid but never managed to actually avoid) but now they were hiding in a closet because they were outmanned and outgunned, and Cobb had promised to get them out of there. Eventually. His exact phrase had been "as soon as I can", but Arthur now read that as "one day, perhaps before you die of old age".

Arthur was trying quite desperately not to think about being shoved up against Eames in a closet, and instead of anything else. The book he'd been reading. Being half starved. Jazz. Anything else.

Eames, however, was a talker. Even after Arthur hushed him half a dozen times, Eames still struck up random conversations in a soft tone. Finally sure that they weren't going to be overheard and dragged out of the closet to be subsequently executed, he finally even unwound enough to respond some.

"Do you have a lady friend waiting for you on the other side, darling?" Arthur could see that pretentious little smirk on Eames' face, and was glad that the forger couldn't possibly see clearly enough to know that Arthur had probably flushed at that comment.

"No." He'd leave it at that.

"Ah, why not, love? Handsome boy like you." He was teasing, and Arthur's temper was already frayed. He didn't have the patience for this right now.

"Drop it, Eames." Arthur snapped in a hard whisper. There was, blissfully, a moment of blessed silence before Eames broke in again.

"Bad break up. Mommy issues. Arranged marriage." He was listing off reasons that Arthur didn't have a girlfriend. Arthur could actually feel the annoyance start somewhere around his sternum and just keep building until it felt like an actual pressure in his shoulders and neck.

"I am gay, Eames. Gay. As in I prefer the company of men." he finally snapped. Immediately, remorseful, he swallowed hard. Thankful for the millionth time for the dark closet, because he was sure that he was about seven shades of red and violet.

A pause. "I hope you are aware that you just came out to me while we are in a closet, Arthur." he said. He was laughing. The bastard was laughing at him!

"The situational irony is not lost on me, thank you, Mr. Eames." he replied, trying desperately to scrape together some of his dignity. Another pause that felt entirely too thoughtful for Arthur's comfort.

"I was sure you were straight." Eames said finally. "I'm not usually this far off the mark." Arthur huffed a sigh. He did not want to continue talking about this!

"Please drop it." he snapped.

"Why? It's a perfectly natural thing, Arthur. Is that why you don't have a boyfriend? Are you ashamed?" Eames' voice rolled over him, and he could almost feel it as a tweak of his nose. Arthur was too easy to bait, he knew that; at least, it was too easy for Eames to tweak his temper. "Do you have a special guy waiting for you at home?"

Oh no, he wasn't going to respond to that. Not when he was still so tangled up in Eames' limbs, aware of that warm feeling where their legs were touching. Not when he could smell the other man's cologne, musky and expensive, like so much else about the forger. No, most certainly not.

A hand on his knee startled him so much that he was sure that he'd pulled an over-tensed muscle.

"You're always so tense, darling." Laughter in that damned voice as fingertips traced the line of his kneecap, dipping ever so slightly towards his inner thigh. Arthur felt his breath catch in his throat, his heartbeat beating out a staccato rhythm. He tried desperately to wet a suddenly dry throat.

Eames shifted his hips slightly, to turn towards him, and those deft fingers traced their way down his leg, to touch him at the hip. Arthur's brain was melting. It had to be. He tried to open his mouth to say anything, but all that came out was a breathy sigh. The laughter, this time, was close to his ear, and he nearly fell apart at it.

"You don't know how long I've been thinking of doing this to you." Eames purred. His hand fumbled for only a moment with Arthur's belt and the button on his slacks. Then Eames' hand was in his pants, stroking him through his boxers.

"If I'd known-ah-I'd have invited you er-earlier." He bit down on his tongue to keep his groan silent. Speaking was apparently not possible. He sounded like a stammering idiot.

"My mistake, darling." Eames shifted, and then there was nothing Eames' hand from Arthur's cock. He slammed his eyes closed, his head already lolling back, pressed hard against the interior wall of the closet. Deft fingers stroked him; a writer's callous on his middle finger, a trigger callous on his pointer.

It was too much, and Arthur knew he wouldn't last long. He focused, desperately, on controlling his breathing, trying to stay quiet, but he was out of his league, and he knew it. A mouth clamped down on his, warm and tasting of those damned clove cigarettes that Eames smoked, and a flurry of tongue and teeth and fingers and he spent himself in Eames' hand. He shuddered, collapsing into a pile of limbs, sweaty and uncomfortable and absolutely boneless.

"I do believe with a little bit of encouragement you would be a real screamer, Arthur." Eames said. Arthur colored at that.

"I'm sorry, I should have kept better control of myself."

Eames laughter was next to his ear. "Oh, no. I look forward to finding out. You could do to fall to pieces a little more, darling."


End file.
